The Voice Inside
by Shane C
Summary: A post-war one shot starring Tobias. Everyone sees Tobias as having this horribly tragic post-war existence - I wanted to do one that would show that the old Tobias was still in there, and he /is/ capable of happiness. Please review if you read!


**Author's Note: ** Out of all of my contacts on this site, the most-requested POV by far is Tobias'. I have a tough time relating to him, but I think I nailed this one. I wanted to do a Tobias post-war one-shot that wasn't sad or depressing. I mean, it's Tobias, so yeah, there's going to be an element of that. But, even though things didn't go Tobias' way, I'm thinking he maybe ended up with a decent life, anyway. This is my imagining of it. As always, _please _review – the reason I'm not writing anywhere near as much anymore is because of the lack of them. I mean, when I spend eight hours writing a one-shot and get four reviews total on it (when traffic says 200+ individual readers have hit the story), doesn't exactly make me excited to do the next one. It's been said. Now go enjoy!

**The Voice Inside**

Rarely, mostly in the summertime, I can bring myself to have a good day.

I say good day, but it's relative. A good day for you is probably spending time with friends and family, going to a movie and dinner, whatever. A day full of simple pleasures. I get it; I used to have them all the time, even as screwed up as my life has always been. People adapt – it's what they do. Well, at least until they experience a certain amount of pain. When that threshold is crossed, it's mostly just survival mode. Sometimes you don't even feel strong enough to do that simple task, to just stay alive. Sometimes, there's nothing inside of you that cares about holding on anymore; sometimes, it's something outside of you that saves your life when you feel like it's not worth saving.

I know this from experience.

After Rachel died and the fight was over, I took off. I left without a single goodbye. I didn't feel bad about it, either; I finally had a reason to be selfish. Nobody needed me anymore, and I sure didn't want any part of the circus that the others were in the middle of. For so long, I'd seen Rachel as my only hope for after the war. My life was so destroyed, ten full-time therapists would have just been wasting their time. Rachel was the only one who knew me all the way through. She loved me, despite everything I loathed about myself. I fought the war on principle; I would have suffered through the aftermath happily, with Rachel at my side. I would have gladly put myself into the public's peering eye. Anything to make her happy. The only time I was happy, from the time I was thirteen years old and on, was when Rachel was.

So maybe it was a selfish thing, me wallowing in my own pity after she died. Maybe I was grieving just as much for the death of my own happiness as I was for Rachel. I don't know how long I was "gone." There was rage, shame, hopelessness, bargaining…it was not a great time for me. One morning I woke up, and I decided it was going to be my last day.

Something happened. Even after everything I've seen, I don't believe in ghosts or anything. But I _do _believe that, when you love someone enough, a part of them stays behind with you after they die. And that's exactly what I think happened – I think that little part of Rachel that stayed behind in me sensed my resolve to call it quits on that day, and spoke out against it.

It was weird, even looking back on it now. Rachel didn't speak to me, not in words, but she urged me to fly to the beach. So I did. Only when I got there, I felt this urge to go north, further north than I should go without planning to stay the night. So I followed the coastline all day, until maybe an hour before sunset, I noticed a small group of surfers floating in the water off of a secluded, rocky beach. I felt Rachel's satisfaction – this was where she had been taking me.

I perched and watched the surfers. They took turns riding the moderate waves in, but I was confused – they seemed way more excited than was warranted for the so-so rides. The puzzle pieces clicked into place, and I got what Rachel wanted me to learn. '_These guys are happy just because they want to be. They're actually living._'

One by one, the young men stopped paddling back out after their rides and slapped each other high fives, calling it a day. They got into their jacked up jeeps and trucks and left the darkening beach. One guy remained out on the water, but he didn't look like he was waiting on a wave. His elbows rested easily on the nose of the board, and he seemed to be waiting for something as he gazed out to sea. After a moment, he seemed to spot what he'd been looking for – he sat up straight, and I could read the anticipation in his body language.

_Boom! _ A grey torpedo burst straight out of the water beside the guy, who laughed and whooped like he'd been expecting it…which he obviously had been. He stretched his fingers up, straining to touch the grinning dolphin that had appeared out of nowhere to hurdle him, but the dolphin had him cleared by several feet. As it splashed down on the other side of the board, two more inquisitive dolphin heads poked out of the water beside him, chittering and laughing that signature dolphin laugh. He laughed in return and pulled something out of the pocket of his board shorts, and suddenly, the encounter seemed a little less random to me. He opened the Ziploc baggie and started tossing his dolphin friends chunks of baitfish, and they didn't need any urging from the man to put on a show for their dinner. They took turns spinning, flipping, and taking the fish gently from his hand.

When the guy ran out of fish, the dolphins were cool about it. They hung around and played for a couple of minutes – I guess they didn't want to be rude and eat and run. I had a feeling this was a standing tradition that I was witnessing. Like maybe this guy really _was _friends with the dolphins.

After a few minutes, they left, grinning their toothy grins and criss-crossing over each other in the air. The guy laughed softly to himself and said, "Awesome."

I don't know what it was – maybe it was seeing the product of my labor right in front of me. It wasn't a show, it wasn't put on as a goodwill propaganda piece; it was an honest, open relationship between members of two different species. All of a sudden, I wanted to talk to someone. (It really was – awesome, that is,) I said to him impulsively.

He looked around kind of crazily at first, but after I told him who – and what – I was, I have to give him credit. He didn't freak out, just kind of took it in stride, even though I could tell he had heard of me and was kind of awed. He introduced himself as Buddy, and he would have made a fantastic therapist. For some reason, I spilled the whole story to him, the story of everything that had happened since the war. Since Rachel. He nodded, listened, and promised not to tell anyone, and there was an open earnestness about him that I believed. We sat out there talking until after the sun went down, me perched on the end of his board. When the last sliver of sun sunk beneath the horizon, Buddy shivered and grimaced. I hadn't noticed, but the temperature had dropped several degrees since we'd been talking.

"Look, it's getting late," he said. "But the way I see it, you and I hooked up for a reason. It's not random that I'm the first person you've talked to in two years." He said it like it was a fact. "Why don't you chill at my place for a while? It's just a little one-bedroom shack and garage a couple of miles from here – you could even sleep in the room. I got a hammock on the porch that I like."

I laughed and explained I slept as a hawk, in a tree. His offer was too inviting, though; it was already dark, and it was a several-hour flight back home. Besides, if I were being totally honest, home was nowhere. Not for me. (Sure, I'll stay for a while. Thanks.) I followed his tiny SUV as it bounced down a bumpy, forgotten road to a postage stamp-sized piece of beach and tiny dwelling on the property. There was a dead oak just feet from the little house that I found a fantastic perch in right away.

Buddy kind of stood around on the porch uncomfortably for a minute. "Um, I'd invite you in for a beer, but you know…unless…" something seemed to occur to him. "Unless you want to change into a person for a while. You can do that, right?"

I laughed and thought about it for a moment. It had been over two years since I'd been human. I didn't think I'd ever want to do it again. But again, I got that phantom feeling that this was what Rachel wanted. I knew deep down that she would never ask me to give up my wings, but she would definitely want me to be human at least some of the time. I glided to the ground and started the now-unfamiliar process of morphing.

It took a little longer than I remembered and was probably not one of my more graceful morphs, but after a few minutes I was 100% human. Buddy was staring at me with big eyes and a bigger grin. "Cool," he said simply. "Come on in, Tobias."

He _did _offer me a beer and I _did _take it. It had been so long since I'd been able to taste anything the the sharp bite of the carbonation was like a new experience. And the cold! Crazy, to have something that cold in my mouth again. He showed me around his little place in about two seconds, then purposefully took me to the garage, which was actually bigger than the house itself. Even before he started talking, I could tell he'd been waiting to show off whatever was inside.

"Yeah, so this is sort of my business," he said proudly as he threw open the garage door. He flipped a switch, and several old overhead fluorescents buzzed to life. I did a double take as I stepped into the workshop.

Everywhere I looked – shelved on the walls, racked from the rafters, and leaning against everything that was standing – everywhere were surfboards. They all had the same basic shape, but they were of widely ranging lengths. I could see one he was halfway through with on two sawhorses in the middle of the garage. "You _make _all these?" I asked, astonished.

"Yep," he answered proudly before floundering a little. "My inventory is a little deep right now – hard to unload these things for what they're really worth – but I'll get them out there someday," he finished confidently.

"So, what's so special about yours?" I asked him. His eyes lit up, glad to have someone interested in his work.

"It's all in the shape, dude. This is a revolutionary new shape and roll I invented myself. Everybody I've talked into getting onto one has fallen in love. Convincing people to try something new is the bummer. I just need a hook – something to convince everyone to go this way when they're board shopping." He sighed. "But I haven't been able to come up with one, yet."

"What does this shape do for the board?" I asked. "Like, why is it so revolutionary?"

Buddy started showing me the difference between the curves on a regular board and his boards. "Surfing is all about maneuverability. Cutback, turns, you gotta have it all to get anything out of a tournament nowadays. This is the most maneuverable board out there. It's not for beginners, but advanced riders will immediately feel how it takes less effort to swing it whichever way you want to go."

I was already formulating a plan. I, for some reason, wanted to help this guy out in his board-selling endeavor. I wanted something out of it, too, though. See, I was pretty sure Rachel would get a kick out of me learning how to build surfboards in my spare time. It would give me a reason to be human, a reason to get up in the morning. Also, I hadn't realized until this moment how desperate I was for a friend. In my life, I had had exactly five friends. One of them had been more than a friend. That one was dead, and the other one, her cousin…he just confused me. I was confused at how I could respect him and hate him at the same time, for the same thing. One was off in deep space. He had been my best friend while he was here, but my _shorm _had left to follow his dreams of becoming a hero among his species. The other two…well, no matter how I felt about Marco and Cassie personally, the fact was that they reminded me of Rachel. I wanted a friend, but not one who would make me sad to look at them. Buddy seemed to be the kind of mild-mannered guy who could handle having me around without letting the fact of what I was – a half bird, half human introvert with a guilty conscience and infinite sorrows – change the way he treated me. It felt good to be treated like a regular person again.

All of that depended on whether or not Buddy wanted an apprentice, though. "I think I can help you out with selling these things. But let's say I _do _come through, and your boards are the new must-have in surfing. If I can make that happen, I want a guaranteed spot helping you make them."

Buddy grinned and offered his hand. "Dude, I'll teach you how to shape even if you _can't _sell them," he promised. He seemed to think of something and his expression turned a little troubled. "So I'm assuming I'm going to keep the fact you're staying here a secret," he said. I agreed – a little human interaction was nice, but I wasn't ready to deal with society as a whole, yet. "Okay, no problem. Don't hesitate to ask for anything you need – my place is pretty minimal, but I can take the trip to town anytime you need."

I laughed. "I've been living in the woods for the past five years. I'll manage."

The next day, Buddy jumped right into showing me the ropes of surfboard making. He showed me the process from start to finish, promising that as time went on I'd become more comfortable with the tools and the process. It was something fun that would require pretty decent chunks of attention. A great distraction for someone who doesn't want to think too much, somebody who just wants to go on autopilot.

I never failed to set the alarm Buddy had provided any time I went into human morph. I wasn't ready to give up my wings. I didn't think I'd ever be ready. Maybe one day I'd be able to let it go, but I wouldn't have my option taken away because of an accident as stupid as losing track of the time.

Toward the end of the day, Buddy instructed me to load a board for myself into his truck. I balked. "I can't surf, man. I'm not even a very strong swimmer."

He didn't look at me as he gunned it out of his driveway. "Well, we're definitely going to have to do something about that if you're going to be chilling with me. But for now, all you have to do is paddle out. We're just going to see the guys."

The reverent tone in his voice tipped me off to who he meant by 'the guys.' "You're talking about the dolphins, aren't you?"

He smiled. "Yeah. That's one appointment I never miss, if I can help it. I've been hanging with them and feeding them almost every day for six years, now. They've lost a couple of adults and had a few babies since I've known them, but it's always the same core group. I hate the thought of them coming to see me for dinner and me not showing up. Maybe it's crazy to think they understand when I can't make it, but I feel like they do, and that they forgive me." He skidded to a stop before the craggy beach made contact with the tires and handed me a bag of semi-frozen fish chunks. "If we're going to be hanging out together, my friends have to approve of you."

I laughed as a thought occurred to me. "You know, I could meet them as a dolphin, myself. I mean that I can morph one," I clarified at Buddy's confused look. "I wouldn't do that, confuse them like that – like I said, I've been one. So I know they're every bit as smart as people think, and then some."

Buddy nodded as we started to paddle away from the beach. "You don't have to tell _me _that. These guys are smarter than half the people I know, and I'm not exaggerating. They have personalities. If people have souls, so do dolphins, for sure."

As if they'd heard Buddy talking about them, they appeared beside our boards. I met them all, and Buddy was right – every single one of the seven dolphins was unique, from their coloration to their features to their attitudes. I had no problem seeing why Buddy never missed coming to see them as they showed off and cajoled their dinner out of the two of us. They all seemed to take my being there in stride; most of the enthusiasm was saved for Buddy. He grinned apologetically. "Sorry. They know I'll be here tomorrow and the day after – they're not sure about you yet, so they're going to try to impress the guaranteed meal," he laughed.

After the dolphins, Buddy and I stayed up late, just talking. I was in my oak in his front yard, and he was lazing in his porch hammock with a small ice chest of beers beside him. He asked me a million questions, but he also made it clear that if he ever went too far or asked something he shouldn't that I could tell him so. I told him about my pre-Animorph life, and why it was a fairly painless transition from what I had been to what I was after I was stuck in morph. I told him about living in the woods; I told him about Ax. He seemed really interested in the nuances of a friendship between a hawk-boy and an Andalite.

I told him about the major actions of the war – at first, it was hard for me to remember. I hadn't thought about the battles in so long that they'd all started to merge into one bloody mess. I unraveled them out loud, both for my sake of remembering and for Buddy's sake of learning.

We talked about fear. We talked about shame, and worry, and heartache. Turns out you don't have to be a _nothlit _castaway to understand those things – Buddy was able to empathize with most every emotion I had built up inside of me.

It wasn't just a vent-out therapy session, though. Buddy was picking up valuable information – I didn't realize it at the time, but Buddy was destined to be the guy who pulled me out of the bog of depression. He was cataloguing everything I was telling him, and he was already shaping up a plan to get me back to normal, functional human status. As I described the things about being human that were uncomfortable and strange to me, now, he was thinking of ways to acclimate me to those things again.

The next couple of months were a moderately-happy blur. It was nice to have a friend again, and even nicer to have one I didn't have to keep any secrets from. We worked, we hung out with the dolphins…Buddy was actually giving me lessons on a board, and I was getting to the point where my naturally bad balance and the fact that I was out of practice being human were actually obstacles I could call conquered. Or at least tamed.

I didn't think of the Animorphs if I could help it. I thought of Rachel every day, but it would be worse if I were able to go without thinking of _her_. I never wanted to forget a thing about Rachel. But Animorphs were slowly getting rotated out of the things I thought about. Part of it was being busy with Buddy, but I think a part of it was good old natural healing with time, though.

Anyway, I hadn't thought their names in weeks. Buddy and I were out on the water, and for some reason, I was having trouble concentrating. I'd fallen the first three times I tried to stand up, which was unusual for me now. I mean, the waves weren't even big – in retrospect, that's probably what caused the disdain that encouraged the two guys on the beach to come hassle me.

I spit out a mouthful and seawater and looked in time to see two big guys standing at the water's edge. They were obviously surfers – the hair and tattoos gave that away pretty easy – but I'd never seen them before. I thought I knew all of Buddy's friends and acquaintances – after all, he lived in a secluded, sleepy surf town of 400 people.

The bigger guy ignored me at first. "Yo Bud! What's happening?"

Buddy wasn't too far out to sea for a shouted conversation, which was why I was surprised when he just waved and started looking out for breakers again.

The guy didn't seem to like being ignored. He turned to me. "We heard Buddy had a new shaper – you him?" I shrugged and nodded, and the guy slapped his pal on the shoulder and laughed raucously. "Buddy hired a shaper who can't even surf – I can't _wait _to tell people about this." He continued to talk about me like I wasn't there. "This kid is as big of a poser as that Berenson tool."

The name was like a shot to the gut, especially given the unexpected source. "What did you say about Berenson?" I demanded.

The guy's eyes narrowed. "You and Buddy don't watch too much TV, huh? Jake Berenson, that guy who fought the Yeerks when he was a kid. Now he's on all the stations talking about surfing because he picked it up as a hobby, and the whole world acts like surfing didn't exist before that clown got on a board."

I hadn't noticed Buddy gently paddling in behind me, and his voice right behind me made me jump. "You don't want to talk about Jake like that," Buddy warned in a cold tone of voice. "Around here, we respect people who're brave enough to stand up for the rest of us."

The guy didn't take him seriously. "Oh, come on, Buddy. You know it's mostly propaganda – there is no way in hell five kids and an Andalite stopped the Yeerks all by themselves."

"That's exactly what happened. Maybe you'd better go back to your own beach now, Brody," Buddy said in the same ice cold tone. Brody exchanged a confused glance with his friend, who shrugged. As they walked off, Brody told Buddy to watch his back.

"Sorry if I caused trouble for you," I said. "That just totally took me by surprise."

Buddy waved at their disappearing backs derisively. "Don't worry about it." He raised his voice, enough to be heard by the departing trespassers on his beach. "Brody's a bitch. He's all talk!" Brody heard that – he jerked and hesitated ever so slightly…then kept walking, until he disappeared over the dunes with his friend. Buddy smiled at me. "Seriously, don't look so worried, Tobe." That was what Buddy and his friends called me – SoCal Tobe, as in Southern California Tobias. Buddy was the only one who knew my real identity. I'd never had a nickname, and even though it was nerdy, I loved it. "Me and Brody grew up together. We've been in at _least _ten no-shit punch-ups. I made him look pretty bad last time – he won't try me again."

But over the next week, I thought about it over and over again. What did it mean that Jake had chosen the same therapeutic activity as me? Was it a sign from somebody, somewhere, that I was supposed to act on? Was I even ready to talk to Jake?

Fortunately, my plan to sell Buddy's boards interrupted my musings. It was a solid plan, and I was extremely proud of coming up with it. Buddy and I had been going up and down the coast for about a month now, showing off our product. Natually, everybody wanted to know what was so special about them, so I gave them something to sink their teeth into.

I made up a whopper of a lie that every time he surfed out in Oceanside, a killer Hammerhead stalked Buddy. We insisted that this one particular shark had it out for Buddy, and Buddy had to invent a board maneuverable enough to dodge an attack by a vicious, twelve foot Hammerhead. Of course, no one believed us. That was why we told everybody to come to the open tournament in Oceanside, where Buddy would prove it – both that the Hammerhead story was true, and that his board was actually maneuverable enough to do what we claimed.

Of course, during the tournament, all eyes were on Buddy when he hit the first set. We decided that earlier was better than later for the big shebang – we didn't want to give all the people we'd talked into coming a chance to lose interest. I was already in Hammerhead morph, waiting. When I felt the vibrations from Buddy rapping two silver dollars together underwater, I knew he was about to take his ride. I could see from below the trails of foam carved through the surf with the boards. I tracked Buddy, waited until he was near the end of his run. It was the point where he was closest to the beach, where the maximum amount of people would get a good look at "the attack." (Get ready to cut hard left on my mark,) I called out to Buddy in thought-speech. I powered my tail and got up to full speed, aiming straight for the board slicing across the surface. (Now!) I yelled.

The board curved away from my ragged mouth a split second before the point of impact. I let the momentum carry my massive body out of the water, breaching all the way out. I could see Buddy a few feet away out of one eye. I splashed down with a massive concussion and slowly cruised out to sea and down the beach. (Mission accomplished,) I said, feeling very satisfied. (We just made your boards the new must-have in surfing.)

And that they were, in spades. We sold every single board in his workshop that very day. But even as the orders for the boards poured in too quickly for Buddy and I to fill them, people were even more interested in the whole "shark matador" dynamic. It had gotten around that Buddy surfed the Oceanside tournament in spite of the fact that all of southern California knew a killer Hammerhead wanted his blood, and _everybody _wanted to talk to him about it. Buddy was a pretty honest guy; it bothered him to take credit for something that was fake in the first place. Between that and the fact that we had made more money than we knew what to do with, we both agreed it was time to get out of California.

Buddy bought (that's right, _bought – _I _told _you the boards were the new staple in surfing) a tiny island in the Pacific, not too far away from Hawaii. We took a boat to get there, to give Buddy's dolphin pod a chance to follow us to our new home, if they wanted to. They _did _follow for a few miles, but abruptly turned and headed back home. Whether or not they knew Buddy and I weren't coming back, I don't know. But the island was totally worth relocating. It was gorgeous, with plenty of rodents running around, and we both enjoyed the seclusion. We were able to surf (which I was quickly becoming good at,) shape boards, and hang out without being hounded by the media. They still had no idea that I was with Buddy. I assumed everybody thought I was still missing or dead. Fine by me – I was mildly happy. Or at least not depressed. And let me tell you, if you've ever been depressed for a long time, it doesn't take happiness to make you feel good. All it takes is for that depression to lift a bit, and you feel _great_, even though you're still not exactly happy. Hard to explain, but I have a feeling most of you know what I mean.

Anyway, so I was as happy as I could be on my little island with Buddy. I had a best friend, one that wasn't forced on me by some interstellar war. My best friend liked me for who I was – a half-bird, half-boy with problems. He didn't mind that I spent most of my early mornings and late afternoons as a hawk, hunting mice and sand rats to disembowel for my meals. And if he minded being woken up in the middle of the night by thought-speech cries I would make during my nightmares, he never said so.

We fell into a routine fairly quickly, and since it was basically just the two of us, barring visitors, life became predictable. Days blurred to weeks, then into months. I was totally in my element, totally comfortable, for the first time in my life. Like I said, not exactly happy, but comfortable.

One morning, I was sitting on the front porch. I was waxing my board absentmindedly and scanning the water to see what direction the current and wind were pushing the waves on this particular day. I spotted a fin slicing the surface, noted the curved-back appearance, and smiled. '_Cool. Some new dolphins found us – awesome._' I was just about to shout for Buddy to wake up and come meet our new friend when I realized the dolphin wasn't slowing down as he cruised toward my beach. "Hey!" I cried out loud as the dolphin beached himself. I had _never _seen a dolphin act like that – not even an injured or sick one. "You know better than that, man. Get back to the ocean," I told him, like he could understand me.

(Why? I just got here,) was the thought-speech reply as the dolphin started to change. I recognized the thought speech right away – Jake. I concentrated really, really hard on the board I was waxing. My first instinct on Jake's arrival was to panic, so I actually went to do that. I realized there was no panic inside of me to play upon. I felt…serene, I guess. Like, no matter what Jake wanted to say, it would be okay. Because I knew who I was, now. More importantly, Rachel knew who I was, and had had a part in making it happen.

I didn't look up until I heard light footsteps on the wooden porch steps. I looked up, and there was Jake – a little bigger, a little older, but still Jake. He looked sheepish. "Can I sit?" he gestured to one of the wicker, sand-covered chairs scattered around the porch.

"Go ahead," I told him calmly. "But the first thing I want to hear out of you is how you found me. Then we can talk about what you want to talk about."

Jake scratched his wet, salty hair. "Um, that actually kind of is _exactly_ what I want to talk about." He hesitated. "Look, it's good to see you, Tobias. I didn't come all this way to upset you, or to start a fight. But I gotta ask you something, point-blank. It's probably something that's going to sting." I nodded my understanding, setting my board aside. He took a deep breath and asked. "Do you ever get…contacted…by Rachel? I mean, does she ever tell you things? Not with words, but from inside, you know?" I could tell this was a big, big deal for Jake to talk about.

I made eye contact with Jake so he'd know I was serious. "Yes. You're not crazy, Jake. Rachel is the reason I'm alive and sitting in this particular chair right now." I waved at the beach, the water, the small house I lived in, and the dozen surfboards scattered around the porch and the beach/yard. "This was all her idea, not mine."

He laughed. It was a relieved laugh, the kind of laugh you hear when a doctor tells someone that the test results for cancer were negative. "Good. She did that to me, too." I guess I looked confused, because he elaborated. "I was kind of just existing, you know? I wasn't living. One day – and don't ask me how I knew this was Rachel, but it _was_ – she…I don't know…_pushed _me into a surf shop I was walking buy. Then she _encouraged _me to buy a board and sign up for lessons. After that day, anytime I would start to question myself, like 'why the hell am I wasting my time surfing?' I would feel Rachel again. No words, but it was almost like she was telling me, 'Just do it, Jake. Don't argue, just do it. It's for your own good.'"

I grinned as he said that. He was genetically close enough to Rachel that I could actually hear her tone of voice when he said what he thought she would have said. Jake continued. "Anyway, to your original question – how did I know where you were? Rachel. Of course it was Rachel," he said, more to himself than me. He then tightened his focus on me. "You're the biggest loose end in my life, Tobias. I can _almost _forgive myself for Rachel, most days – and mostly because she's encouraging it. But I can't ever get it out of my head about _you. _I worry about you, and I worry about the way you hate me. But mostly, I worry about you." I could tell he was sincere, and at that moment, I finally understood how I felt about Jake.

He was the scapegoat. It was all too easy to blame Jake for everything, because he had been the one front and center, giving the orders. But I knew that he was just vocalizing what we all already knew. Hating Jake was ridiculous. It was like whacking a beehive with a stick, getting stung, and getting pissed off at the stick you hit the beehive with. Jake was just the catalyst. He wasn't the one who poisoned my life – that was the Yeerks. He had been the one trying to suck the poison out.

I decided to let Jake off the hook, both out loud, and inside my own mind. "I don't hate you, man. And Rachel did push us together. I see it now. Even if I _did _hate you, I'd still do this with you, because she wants me to. But, Jake…it's over. All of it. It's all over. You and me are okay – you are absolved of your sins, dude. I hold no grudge."

Jake nodded. "I knew you'd say that. You're a good person, Tobias. I just want you to know that if I ever did wrong by you, accidentally or on purpose, I'm sorry. Someone like you only deserves a square-deal, and I didn't always do that for you. I'm sorry."

I stuck out my hand to shake his, to let him know we were cool. He looked at it for a moment, then surprised me by taking it to pull me into a hug. We didn't say anything, just stood there embracing for a moment. I'd have gotten embarrassed and shoved the bigger guy off of me sooner, but I felt Rachel's deep satisfaction at the moment, so I let it go on.

"Ho-hum," came the interrupting cough from the front doorway. Buddy stood there, looking amused. "Tobes, no visitors to the island without letting me know," he scolded me, even though he was grinning like a fool. He knew who the guy beside me was. He went to shake Jake's hand, and Jake pulled _him _into a hug, too.

It was a short one, only long enough for Jake to say, "Thanks for everything." I knew he was thanking Buddy for saving my life, even though he had too much class to say it out loud.

Buddy took off his shirt and tossed it onto a chair. He snatched a board and looked out longingly toward the water. "Jake, you're the one guy I've always wanted to meet. I've got a million questions for you, and believe me, I'm going to ask them eventually. Right now, though…boys, those swells are looking _juicy, _and they're calling my name. Anybody else want to shred a set before we have some lunch and get to talking?"

I exchanged a glance with Jake, who looked as happy to hit the waves as I was. "Yeah," I said.

Jake smiled. "Let's do it." Those three words were a tribute to Rachel. He didn't say so, but he didn't have to. As the three of us jogged into the surf, I realized that it wasn't three – it was four. Rachel was running out to the waves right beside us, and even though she was gone, she was the happiest of all.

**A/N: Just wanted to toss this in here. Anytime I'm trying to muster up some emotion to write an R/T fic or ficlet, I almost always listen to this song (no pun intended.) It's called Always by Panic! at the Disco, and the song fits their relationship like, perfectly. Here's a link to a lyrics version on youtube – hope you enjoy it, and you'll see what I'm talking about!**

** /watch?v=2lpXbAaLmjA&feature=BFa&list=PL8B1D29345E7BAC4F**


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